


Whisper for Help

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Dominant Satine Kryze, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Other, Past Mind Rape (Sidious), Pegging, Qui-Gon Lives, Satine Kryze Lives, Sith Obi-Wan, Submissive Obi-Wan Kenobi, Temporary Suicidal Desire, Terribly Negotiated Kink, Voluntary Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-04-08 10:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14103273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Obi-Wan was kidnapped by Sidious for two long years of torture (off-screen) (YES it's offscreen, why are you looking at me that way?). Our story opens with him escaped, victorious over the Sith's ruined plans and slaughtered corpse, and with a conviction there's nothing interesting to live for anymore.Satine sort of plans to heal him by making him her sex slave. Obi-Wan is really on board with the sex slave part of it.Expect a lot of sexual content, but *not* of the classic piv variety. Satine's not interested in that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for classic PIV sex, don't expect it. Satine prefers to penetrate rather than be penetrated, and she doesn't mind she needs a few tools to get the job done. The exception to the rule is the tagging ceremony.
> 
> And also:
> 
> For the sake of writing an erotic Sith/Mando story, I have completely veered away from the reality of a 24/7 Master/slave relationship. There's almost no Negotiation, and the communication is not so great. Neither Obi-Wan or Satine are in a very... well... sane place. They're enthusiastic, it could be termed consent, but in the real world... concerns about actual consent would be very valid. Satine does concern herself with keeping him safe, but he doesn't give a kark for his own well-being, and no short-term contracts are signed.
> 
> I completely understand if that will take away the enjoyment of this for you. I hope you have a lovely day either way you decide. <3

 

 

“I'm here to take you in.” Qui-Gon's words were soft but determined.

Obi-Wan couldn't turn to face him, instead looking out at the burning battlefield. The air had fallen still, as if a breath were held, waiting for the final blow.

The Sith Master lay dead. Anakin had been rushed away wounded.

Obi-Wan somehow stood unscathed, despite his desires.

“You helped us stop an evil that claimed far too many lives,” Qui-Gon murmured. “You know they will be merciful.”

The Council. A group of individuals who had asked Obi-Wan to take a seat with them, just prior to his kidnapping.

But two years had passed since then. Two years of Sidious breaking him open in every way possible until all Obi-Wan could see was his own pain. And once he could no longer look to others beyond himself...

Yellow bled into his eyes.

A jaundiced reminder that the most important thing in Obi-Wan Kenobi's universe was himself.

He had escaped, lured both Sidious and Jedi here, then thrown his lot in with the family of his heart, helping slay the dark one...

_ But I was using them. _

He hadn't been fighting for the survival of anyone but himself when he made the arrangements. And when he put his blood-red saber through Sidious' heart, Obi-Wan fed on the vile one's pain and despair.

Anakin had been severely wounded in the battle, not to mention his heartbreak at Palpatine's long-term betrayal.

_ I should feel something about it. _ Grief, worry perhaps...

Obi-Wan had... done things. To escape from Sidious. The plan had not been clean.

He'd killed Sidious' underlings, the people that stood between him and the open air.

Not all of them had been guilty.

Obi-Wan had known it at the time, but his terror at facing a second more beneath Sidious' cruel control had overridden any need to stay his hand.

He would need to return with Qui-Gon. Face a trial.

Mace seemed to think that the plea of terror, self-defense, and two-years' worth of torture would incline the trial into a positive outcome. Yes, he'd killed innocents, but he couldn't have known it at the time.

Obi-Wan knew better. No, he hadn't known  _ which  _ were  _ which...  _ so he'd taken them all out to save himself.

“I cannot go back with you.”

Qui-Gon took a step closer, but his saber remained clipped to his belt. “Are you happy, Obi-Wan?”

Tears burned the Fallen one's eyes. He couldn't quite remember what it felt like to be happy. He knew he'd felt it before. Qui-Gon on one side, Anakin on the other, the Order surrounding them and the Light cradling his heart—

“Only walk away from me if you're  _ happy _ , Obi-Wan.”

“I'm not.”

“Then come back with me. Face justice. Serve any time it requires. Do it because it's the right thing to do, and then try to find healing.” Obi-Wan could sense both fear and conviction in his voice. Conviction, because he'd known Obi-Wan better than any other being alive or dead. Fear, because he could sense something was wrong.

Obi-Wan turned to face him, searching Qui-Gon's eyes for any sign of a flinch when his master saw bloodied gold.

“Are you looking for rejection?” Qui-Gon whispered. “Because you won't find it. It's not here. We know what he did to you. Repeated mind rapes, your shields smashed to nothing and your soul plundered again and again—  _ none of us  _ think any less of you for Falling.”

“Another might have lasted longer.”

“There is no way of knowing that. If your heart wavered, I doubt mine would have endured either. I know your heart.”

Obi-Wan knew his own hatred of himself was shining through his golden eyes, and in shame, he dropped his gaze.

“And when it came down to it, you saved the lives of millions. You saved  _ me.  _ You could have seen injured Jedi across that field, and decided to wipe us out— you didn't.”

_ Some right thing. Refraining from murdering more innocents is the bare minimum, the thing  _ expected.  _ I shouldn't have to be praised for it. _

_ But that is what I am now. _

Qui-Gon stepped closer, reached out, brushed a hesitant finger against Obi-Wan's cheek. “I believe healing is worth fighting for.”

Obi-Wan leaned into the touch, a tear slipping free down his cheek.

“I need your help, Master,” Obi-Wan choked. “I need you to put me down. The road to healing is long, and vicious, and I cannot face it.”

The heavy sigh in return should have broken Obi-Wan's heart, but he couldn't even feel it.

“Padawan. Please— I would walk every step of the way with you. The people who love you need you to keep fighting just a little longer.”

But there was the problem.

Obi-Wan's shoulders sagged. “I've already made up my mind, Qui-Gon. I wasn't asking for your permission. I was asking for your help. I was asking for your mercy.”

To that, Qui-Gon had but one word that he offered, but that one word undid Obi-Wan and dropped him to his knees, offering his wrists for binders, hopelessness scalding the Force around him and dragging pained tears from Qui-Gon's eyes.

The word? A single name.

 

* * *

 

Satine had stopped hoping for Obi-Wan to return alive six months ago.

His corpse, perhaps.

But not the knight she loved.

Now she settled into her apartment on Coruscant, still aching every time she saw something that reminded her of him.

She could count on one hand the number of times she'd had business on Coruscant when Obi-Wan was  _ not  _ also on-planet. Almost always they managed to time it right, and he would let himself in through the balcony's window.

The beautiful man, hidden in his flowing cloak, ready to kneel at her feet and pour out his heart for her to peruse.

Tears stung her eyes and her fingers curled into a fist. Oh, Manda, it  _ hurt,  _ the loss of her shining knight.

She stepped into the small sitting room, braced for it to be empty—

And found a man dressed in quiet black, a tracking ring around his ankle, his head uncovered and bowed as he knelt on the floor before the door to the balcony.

Satine froze, heart leaping into her throat.

It was  _ him. _

_ But there is something wrong. _

He raised bitter, ocher-stained eyes to her face, and she knew.

_ My knight has Fallen far. _

“I have spilled innocent blood,” he spoke, voice hopeless. “I am here to tell you myself, so you do not find it out through the news channels.”

Her knight. Brave, true of heart. “Tell me why.” Her voice was calm in spite of the dread warring for her heart.

She listened as he explained, as he left no part of his soul hidden from her gaze. No excuses made, no euphemisms to hide the truth employed.

“I can see my moral compass. I have not forgotten right from wrong. But it is disconnected. I cannot find a reason to hold to it. I do not care. The link between it and my heart has been severed.”

Satine did not move from where she stood.

“I asked Qui-Gon to stop me. He did not.”

Satine took measured steps closer, still watching him with a quiet, hawk-like vigilance. “What do you consider yourself?”

“Simply a man. No longer a Jedi. I resigned, though they pled with me to not. The effort to live— I will not give.”

“And your plan?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Endure the trial, I suppose. Serve the sentence, if I am granted one.”

_ It is unlikely you will be given one. You were too clearly desperate to escape the horror of long-term torture. _

There was less conviction in his stated plan, however.

“I think not,” Satine replied, making his eyes go wide. “I think you plan to leave here and then die.”

His gaze shifted away. “I am not here to threaten you with my demise.”

“I know that. It's why you've carefully avoided admitting your desire to be done, except for one crucial mistake. When you asked Qui-Gon to put you down and he refused, why didn't you do it yourself?”  
“He spoke of you. You deserved to hear the truth from me.”

“I do not believe your desire for death has abated one whit.”

He wouldn't look at her.

“And you feel little obligation to anyone, so answer me this: why would duty to  _ me  _ drag you back here, for hours more waiting before seeking silence and rest?”  
His brow furrowed. Clearly he hadn't asked himself the same question.

She took one more step forward, into his space. If he wanted to look her in the eye, he would have to tip his head very far back now. As it was, he stared at her shoes.

“Tell me one thing, Obi-Wan Kenobi: if I were to invite you into my service, to answer to me and me alone, to kneel at my feet and bend to my will, would you choose it, or would you choose the death you crave?”

A shiver ran through him, and his chin  _ did  _ tilt up the required distance to see her face. She read a vulnerable hunger and bewildered shock in his eyes.

“You said you do not wish to survive the healing process. That you have no will to do so. What if your body and mind no longer belonged to you?”

“I did not come here to for you to invent a way to keep me alive,” Obi-Wan rasped, sounding ashamed and afraid. “I did not even come here to say goodbye. Call the Temple, ask them to tighten their suicide watch on me. You will have done right by your conscience without slaving yourself to me.”

Oh, she doubted even the best would manage it. He'd managed to evade them to visit her, after all.

“I did not offer to watch you to make sure you heal,” she replied, tone chilling a few more degrees. “I am not offering to twist my life out of its course to carry you. Make no mistake: if you surrendered to me, you would be  _ mine,  _ and I would expect your obedience whether I was present or a thousand star systems away from you.” Her eyes were probably glittering with that light Korkie had told her was alarming and just a little evil. “So decide, simply a man Kenobi, pursue a path you've chosen for yourself, or submit to me.”

For a long moment there was silence as he stared at the floor.

And then he stood, gazing down into her eyes with those ruined orbs of his own, and whispered, “For how long?”

“A year to the day. And then we would revisit this question again— but not until then. You would be mine. Body and soul, however I please.”

Again that tremble. “Yes,” he whispered.

Oh, it was a dangerous path she'd chosen.

Perhaps it had been foreseeable, that the collapse of the one would lead to the faltering of the other, with how tightly they were linked. And if she tried to save him, she  _ would  _ be dragged down in his wake.

Perhaps not into his own Fall, but into a struggle that would drain her dry and leave her unable to rule her people with the attention and focus they needed.

They had always been so careful, not to  _ possess  _ one another. Each giving the space the other required for health and happiness.

They had stepped over that line.

_ No. I did. _

She owned another human being in all but paperwork. Paperwork she  _ would not  _ file, given her official stance on slavery.

Some of the tension eased from Obi-Wan's shoulders, the wild recklessness in his eyes dimmed, just a bit.

“Tell me,” she directed, “does your Parole Officer know where you are?”  
“Yes.”

“It is Qui-Gon, then.”

“Yes.” Relief flooded his eyes.

“Call him. I would speak with him.”

Obi-Wan obeyed, keying the frequency into his comm and handing it over to her without hesitation.

“Master Jinn. This is Satine.”  
“Is Obi-Wan with you?” the former master asked back, fear in his voice.

Satine eyed Obi-Wan's reaction, saw that fear made no impact whatsoever.

Once upon a time, it would have left him desirous to relieve his beloved master's distress.

“He is. What are the parameters for his parole?”

“Keeping the anklet on, and attending the meetings and hearings specified. He'll get a reminder with the date and time on the anklet the day before any such meetings, and updates if schedules change.”

Satine pointed to the chair and Obi-Wan immediately sat in it. She held out her hand and mouthed  _ foot,  _ and he placed his ankle in her hand. Sure enough, there was a little screen— blank and black for the moment.

“He is not allowed to leave the planet until after the trial, but it won't happen for at least a week, since evidence must be gathered and witnesses found.”

“Understood. He says he has left the Order?”  
The reply came back, heavy with grief, “Yes.”

“He will be staying with me. I will ensure he attends all required meetings.” Her gaze shifted to Obi-Wan's as she said it, and his eyes went wide, and then he rested his head against the chair's high back, eyes half-lidded, watching her quietly.

She let go of his foot and he placed it on the floor again, and that  _ shiver  _ again—

“Satine, I must warn you... he's in a very alarming place right now.”

Satine felt her lips curve into a tiny, merciless smile as she kept Obi-Wan's gaze trapped with her own. “He wishes to die. I know. However, he has surrendered his life into my hands, and he is not allowed to take his own life. It belongs to me now. He dies on my command, not a second sooner.”

A sharply in-drawn breath— not of shock or embarrassment, but of pure arousal, Obi-Wan's lips parting as his body tensed with the unexpected attack.

Still she didn't let him look away.

A heavy silence fell over the comm, and when Qui-Gon finally spoke again, his voice was broken with tears. “Satine, do whatever you have to in order to save my son.” And then he cut the connection.

Obi-Wan blinked, brow furrowing just a bit at his master's words— and also probably confused Qui-Gon hadn't reacted more strongly to such alarming words.

_ Ah. But like you, your master foolishly trusts me. _

Satine stared down at her acquisition, handing him back his comlink. He accepted it without once looking away from her face.

“When is the last time you slept?” she asked.

“Before I escaped.”

A matter of over forty-eight hours, then.

“I have matters I must attend to. I will be gone for over an hour. Go to my bed and sleep until I return. That is all you are permitted to do. No lying awake thinking. You will sleep for me.”

He gave a nod, moved to obey—

“But first you will shower, because I will not have blood in my bed. Throw what you're wearing now in the trash. I will be clothing you from now on. You will wear one of my nightgowns until I return with clothing for you.”

Again, that full-body reaction. He bowed in her direction, and retreated to her room to retrieve one of the loose, billowing gowns.

It would be a bit tight across the shoulders, but he had endured far worse in recent days.

Satine left, knowing she would need to add in a little shopping to her to-do list.

 

* * *

 

The hot water washed away the grime of battle, and one of the fluffy towels dried him off.

He caught sight of his beard in the mirror, considered for a moment shaving it off—

_ But she has not told me to. _

He would ask, once she returned. She preferred him without it.

And to be honest...

It belonged to Jedi Master Kenobi.

_ What  _ am  _ I now? _

He'd said he was simply a man, but he believed himself so much less than that. What was a man who betrayed everything he believed in, who could watch the weeping of his father and feel nothing, who would ask a loved one to do the very thing that had broken Obi-Wan himself in the first place— kill another being?

_ I am nothing. _

Except...

_ I am  _ her  _ nothing. _

There was something oddly terrifying in draping the white gown over himself. He nearly didn't peer into the mirror, since it almost scared him, but since there was no one to see, no one to know...

He stole a glance.

The look sent a strange pang of calm through his heart.

As if all of his failings had been stripped away, leaving him marked as belonging to a being he still respected, someone he trusted, when he could no longer respect or trust himself.

Perhaps she would allow him to wear her crest or clan colors, once she addressed the matter of his clothing.

He approached the bed and peeled back the covers, making sure to take the side she never used. He felt a tiny smile at that, since he  _ knew  _ that information.

It seemed a little wrong to wonder it right now, but...

Might she use him for her physical pleasure, at some point in the future? He doubted she would very soon, but he'd given her his body, and he no longer held to the Jedi Code.

If she chose to use him as a sex toy...

It was her prerogative.

That thought had him aching hard. He crawled into the bed and curled up, facing the empty other half of the bed, and enjoying his own sexual discomfort.

He closed his eyes, emptied his lungs, and sank himself into a deep healing sleep, since he knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep without the Force's aid.

 

* * *

 

When Satine returned, she recognized the signs.

He'd completely, utterly abandoned all hope of defense in the pursuit of obeying her. This deep a sleep was something he had chosen to do to himself.

For a long moment Satine simply stood in the doorway and watched him breathe, taking in how his face lost the years of pain and guilt and left him sweet and vulnerable.

Seeing him in her nightgown was unexpectedly arousing as well.

He'd left the covers off, as if asking her to see him when she returned.

Since she knew he would not awake, and she had the right to do so, she stepped to his side and brushed the hair back from his forehead.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan blinked awake in the morning, and it only took half a heartbeat for the grief and loss crashed into him again.

The loss of his eyes. The loss of—

Satine stood at her vanity, combing the snarls out of her hair, still damp from a shower.

Obi-Wan didn't bother to sit up, simply watching her instead.

Her gaze met his through the mirror. “Today you will shave off that beard.”

“It will be done.” Obi-Wan's heart pattered just a bit faster at the command.

“You will also accompany me as I go about my tasks today. A silent observer, and you will speak only if  _ I  _ speak to you; not anyone else. They recognize you, ask you for information, you will remain silent while  _ I  _ answer for you.”

Again, that tremor through his body that felt so strange.  _ Surrendering so much of myself to her is terribly arousing. Why? _

He put no real effort into discerning the reason. It was something other than the chasm yawning empty in his soul— he would take it. But there  _ was  _ one question he  _ did  _ want answered. 

“Am I a kept man?”

The brush hit the tabletop with jarring force as eyes glittered through the mirror. For a long moment Satine said not a word. Then... “Do you wish to be? It is very different from a civilian attending me, which could be interpreted as a friend or a lover or extra hired security. A  _ kept  _ man of a Duchess of Mandalore would have a tag in his ear to identify his service, would be dressed not as a civilian, but as his role, and anyone who ever saw him would  _ know  _ his body is reserved for the entertainment of the Duchess of Mandalore alone, and that he has few other purposes. Certainly none that surpass that one, consuming role.”

And oh, Qui-Gon would counsel him to wait, to consider, to _ think,  _ to consider what he wanted and what he needed, and—

And Obi-Wan didn't care what the man who cared so deeply and selflessly for him thought.

And Anakin would probably be mortified of his father figure choosing the life of a fancy whore.

But  _ claiming  _ Satine, letting her rule every breath of him was the only thing he might want more than he craved death.

So to hell with the rest of them and good sense.

To hell with it  _ all. _

He kept her gaze in the glass, and gave a small nod. “Make me your kept man.”

“That is not a position you can just relinquish after a year,” she cautioned, but her breathing had turned predatory, and Obi-Wan could sense the feral desire to put her claws in him and mark him as  _ hers _ . “Even should you desire to regain possession of your soul after our days are up, you would still owe your pleasure to me.”

Oh, Qui-Gon would  _ certainly  _ urge him to wait and think.

Even  _ Anakin  _ would, and Force knew how much the boy hated  _ thinking. _

“I understand. Make me your kept man.”

Satine rose from the small stool, her motions losing the grace of royalty and reverting instead to the grace of a blood-craving feline. She slipped open a drawer, pulled out a small device that Obi-Wan instantly recognized.

He'd seen such contraptions used to put tags in the ears of livestock on certain farming worlds.

The knowledge it would punch a hole through  _ his  _ ear left his heart racing and his cock filling.

_ I have lost it. _ But in this second of fear mingled with desperate anticipation, Obi-Wan found the knowledge of what he lost hurt less. It seemed almost insignificant, in fact.

Satine drew something  _ else  _ from a small box, and swept to the bed, peeling off her nightgown as she went.

Obi-Wan's eyes snapped wide, realizing she wore nothing underneath.

“Take that off and lie down again,” she directed, and Obi-Wan hastened to obey, worming his way out of the nightgown.

He watched, head craning up as she tapped his cock with her finger, which had it unspeakably interested—

Every thought and grief seemed stripped out of Obi-Wan's head, replaced with sheer shock. He didn't  _ know  _ what would happen next. He could infer certain things, hope for others, but he didn't  _ know...  _ but it would be a combination of pleasure and pain with all authority torn from his fingers.

And  _ gods,  _ he craved it.

Satine secured a ring around the base of his cock, and something that closed tight around the top of his balls. It yanked a quiet breath out of him, the bizarre sensations.

“You are not allowed to come until I have finished with you and I give you permission to,” Satine explained, and there was nothing warm, nothing  _ friendly  _ about her words or expression. “The rings will help, but you are going to have to exercise your will as well. You do not want to disobey me in this.”

Simple possession.

_ Yes. Yes, please. _

“I understand,” he rasped.

Satine secured binders to his wrists, chaining his hands to the headboard.

_ Nothing but a cock for her to use how she wills. _

Obi-Wan shuddered with the delight of the thought, but had little time to glory in it.

She took him, then, lowering herself onto his shaft and setting her own pace. Her hand slipped to her front, to tease her clit, and Obi-Wan found he could do nothing but watch. She knew what she liked, knew what she wanted, and she gave no thought to his own desires.

And that  _ alone  _ nearly had him coming.

_ She told me not to— _

So he employed every Force trick he could think of to obey her directive.

When her walls clenched around him in her own orgasm, Obi-Wan nearly lost it, his arms yanking forward, only able to move inches before being caught up by the binders. His eyes rolled up as he fought his own cascade—

_ No. Not yet. _

Satine pulled herself off him, and a whimper caught in his throat. 

Satine's hand, damp with her own juices, stroked his throat in response, a possessive gesture that he submitted to, trembling with readiness.  _ Do it. Put the tag through my ear. Let the galaxy know what I'm good for now. _

And deeper, low enough even he himself couldn't hear it...

Let the galaxy know he was good for  _ something. _

But that wasn't a thought he would  _ ever  _ allow to surface in his conscious mind.

The constriction around everything but one wrist disappeared, and a hand guided his free hand to his cock.

Satine's hand vanished, to slide his left earlobe into the contraption.

He expected it to hurt mightily.

She held the tagger and paused.

“Make yourself come now,” Satine murmured.

_ And as I do— _

The thought alone had him rutting his hips up into his hands, and the words had as much to do with dragging him over the edge as his own touch. He shuddered in release—

Satine's fingers clenched—

Pain exploded through his ear, inextricably mixed with the forceful pleasure—

A noise escaped him, one that somehow accepted  _ both— _

And then he lay still, feeling the slow glide of come down his thigh, and blood down his neck. He tried to catch his breath, watching Satine's glazed eyes, the way her attention couldn't leave his newly-placed mark of service.

He reached out with the Force to her, sensed her murky high.

It rivaled his own, the two fitting together like puzzle pieces.

Obi-Wan huffed out an exhausted sigh and turned onto his side, facing the edge of the bed, since he couldn't turn the other way with his wrist still bound. He intended to stay awake, but—  _ Force... _

 

* * *

 

Satine felt no surprise as she watched her kept man fall asleep, one wrist still chained to the headboard, the last of the bleeding even now stilling against his pulse.

He'd been put through hell and sleep deprivation, been given  _ one  _ night's rest, and then been faced with an emotional and physical trial by fire.

Satine moved to the refresher, cleaned herself up, then returned to clean him.

He didn't wake as she took away traces of both pain and pleasure.

She left him naked, but folded the blanket up over his torture-abused body.

His captor had been cruel beyond measure in these last two years, and it showed.

Satine brushed her fingers over the silver and blue tag of possession. It spelled  _ Kept by Duchess Satine Kryze  _ plainly on it, for anyone with optical nerves to see.

Perhaps Qui-Gon Jinn would scream in her face once he saw it, accuse her of taking advantage of his Padawan when the man was in no condition to make such a commitment.

But a door had been opened in Satine, and she didn't think any such remonstrating was going to result in agreement from herself.

_ He is mine. _

Satine's fingers closed over his throat without squeezing just once more.

_ Mine. _

But she was going to have to return to clothes shopping again.

There were a whole new set of parameters now.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extra Warning:
> 
> The Court reviews footage Palpatine kept of mind-torturing Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan finds it difficult to sit through. So does everyone else. Graphic description of screaming, but that's about all that's on the tape since mind invasion can't really be *seen* on a camera. Obi-Wan's response borders on Panic/Flashbacks, and there are lots of people (most loved ones, some not) in the room.
> 
> Semi-public sex. Also, graphic set up for sex in private, but the most of it will arrive in the next chapter, not this one, so don't get hopes too far. This Satine's reaction to ObiSuffering is fill him full of toys.
> 
> And one last extra warning: while Satine loves him with all her heart, she does see him as her slave, and not in a playful way. She is directing the course of his life and while I don't think she would sexually harass him if he pushed away from it, she does not let him push away from her directions to stay alive, to cooperate with the trial, and wear clothes. Etc. Some more uncomfortable to witness than others. He does not have his full agency here.
> 
> It definitely traumatizes Anakin.

 

Qui-Gon...

Qui-Gon had expected it, to be honest.

There had been a tone in Satine's voice when they spoke last that he hadn't heard since before she adopted pacifism.

Something visceral and ancient that would not be denied.

And he could sense Obi-Wan had not perished in the night, so he had assumed...

Something had kept him here. Chained him here, perhaps.

So when he saw the fitted and flared uniform of a kept man on his former Padawan, in Kryze colors... when he saw the tag through the ear...

The kick in his gut that Qui-Gon felt didn't seem to be that of shock.

Obi-Wan stood, unmoved, unconcerned, arms crossed over his chest, head up, shoulders back, beard gone.

Qui-Gon hadn't seen  _ confidence  _ in him since...

Since he'd been taken by Sidious, two years ago. Certainly not since his return.

The wild, frightening thing in his eye was not there today, a heavy calm in the gold instead.

As for Satine, she moved as if she had always had... or had always been  _ meant  _ to have a sex slave at her side.

The lawyers sure noticed.  _ Everyone  _ noticed.

_ And what will I tell Anakin? _

Obi-Wan sent only a cursory glance in Qui-Gon's direction, the auburn head giving only a slight nod before turning back to his Duchess. His keeper.

Qui-Gon's heart ached. Obi-Wan looked good in his uniform, and the Duchess had chosen to allow him to be covered, for the most part. He was flaunted, certainly, but not unveiled. He wasn't padding behind her barefoot and draped in nothing but golden chains.

But still...

It was all over Coruscant by now. The Jedi who had gone missing early in the war returned with corrupted eyes only to be turned over into the employ of Mandalore's ruler.

To kneel at her feet and—

_ And my once-proud Padawan would have blushed furiously in shame at the whispers that strip him of his personhood and leave him simply a toy of another. _

This Obi-Wan didn't seem to care. Not to eyes, not to the Force.

A disheveled Force presence entered the room. Obi-Wan didn't flinch, didn't look over.

But Qui-Gon did. And then raced to intercept the pale and trembling Anakin, moving with slow, pained steps aided by a cane. “What are you doing out of the Halls of Healing?” Qui-Gon fretted.

“It's his first hearing,” Anakin explained. “I'm gonna fight for him. Testify to his character.”

“Anakin, they'll be accepting character witnesses  _ tomorrow. _ You need to go back— and  _ rest  _ until then—”

The injured knight shook his head. “I have to be here. He was alone for two  _ fripping  _ years. I'll be damned if he's alone in this courtroom.”

And then the inevitable happened, and Anakin caught sight of Obi-Wan's new appearance.

And the world may have ended.

 

* * *

 

Satine couldn't hear the Force storm that likely was happening around them, but she  _ could  _ hear the coming unglued of Anakin Skywalker  _ outside  _ of the Force.

Obi-Wan didn't move, acted as if he hadn't noticed.

Anakin was not taking Obi-Wan's... life choices well at the moment.

Satine was not at all surprised when he hiked his way over to her, as fast as he could manage with barely-functioning legs and a cane, and tried to actually take a swing at her face.

It only took a slight waist bend to avoid the flying fist, but Anakin's own momentum toppled him to the floor and left him panting and sheet-white from pain where he lay.

Obi-Wan watched, that frustrating emptiness still in his eyes.

It was Qui-Gon who knelt by Obi-Wan's former Padawan, who soothed the groaning man, who helped him back to his feet, and then into a chair. One he couldn't watch Satine from.

Qui-Gon tried murmuring to him, but the knight was livid, and would undoubtedly be yelling if his body would permit it.

As it was, his hissed whispers were hardly  _ quiet. _

They were venomous and afraid and so very, very humiliated.

Satine kept an eye on her property out of the corner of her lashes, but he still watched with that distance that Sidious had carved into him. He could  _ see  _ someone he knew he had loved in the past in desperate distress...

But he couldn't connect it to his sense of right and wrong. Couldn't connect it to the boundless compassion he used to possess. Couldn't even connect it to his own sense of pain— the automatic response of  _ someone I love is in pain means I hurt as well _ .

It was all gone.

In its place, an Obi-Wan only vaguely interested in the people within his range of vision, and no particular interest in anything that didn't directly pertain to his personal pleasure or pain.

 

* * *

 

Satine and Obi-Wan disappeared immediately upon recess, but Qui-Gon couldn't follow after them because Anakin was... falling apart.

Once Anakin seemed stable enough, Qui-Gon hurried into the hallway and around the corner, searching for the man he needed to see, to hug, to look in his eyes and try to discover how he was doing.

He...  _ found  _ them.

Obi-Wan with his back against the wall, head tipped back, lips open in silent pleasure, his trousers open and a fully-clothed Satine manipulating his cock with her hand while one of his hands rested on her shoulder and the other clawed at the wall.

One last sweep of Satine's thumb, and Obi-Wan's body buckled as he came, Satine side-stepping so the stream would hit the floor and not herself.

Qui-Gon retreated, heart sore.

_ Force protect my boy. Please. Keep him alive. _

Qui-Gon feared for him, so  _ much,  _ and he feared what the headlong shift in dynamic might do to both of these bright lights...

_ But Obi-Wan is no longer a bright light. _

And Satine...

Satine's was faltering. Qui-Gon could see it in the Force around her, and it left Qui-Gon wondering what he should do. What he  _ could  _ do. 

_ Perhaps this is what Obi-Wan needs. To not be a person for a while, to be a belonging instead. _ Qui-Gon didn't know. All he knew was that he'd been unable to keep Obi-Wan alive so far, but Satine  _ had. _

It made him unwilling to work against her.

But it hurt to see his Padawan in a situation that Obi-Wan would have abhorred two short years ago.

_ He's not that man anymore, though, Qui-Gon. And maybe this Obi-Wan, this new man that he is, wants this. Maybe this isn't hurting him. Maybe it will heal him. _

The two swept by, a smug look in Satine's eye and a dazed, worshipful one in Obi-Wan's, but other than that they appeared dignified. Something  _ alive  _ glittered in Obi-Wan's eyes that hadn't been there before his taking and swift debauching in the hallway.

Sex in a public place was something difficult to complain about, when Obi-Wan  _ could  _ be seeking that rush of feeling from injuring himself or murdering other people. Hell. Sex in public places left Qui-Gon feeling rueful, but not despairing.

_ We are not without hope yet. He might still endure long enough to find a little healing. _

Perhaps enough to make life livable for the auburn-haired man Qui-Gon loved so dearly.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was fine, if a bit zoned out, until the court began reviewing evidence from Palpatine's private datapad.

Footage from the cams in Obi-Wan's torture chamber, Obi-Wan's screams choked and horrifying to hear.

Satine had heard men scream with no inhibitions before.

She wasn't surprised to see that most of the people in this room never had.

Even under extreme pain and duress, most men held on to a certain level of pride. They didn't want to sound like “women.” They yelled, they swore, they screamed— but it was always in the register of their normal range of voice. A man's scream.

Obi-Wan's, a year and a half into his torment, were the screams of an animal. High, breathless, sobbed words that couldn't be discerned since they were so mangled, a creature not in  _ pain,  _ but being  _ destroyed. _

Screams that made the hearer wonder if the cries alone could damage something within Obi-Wan's throat.

The current Obi-Wan was trembling, eyes wild, his teeth clenched, close to lashing out and then  _ fleeing— _

The Judge sent him a stern look—

Such a flight would not be well received.

Satine placed her hand on the back of Obi-Wan's neck, gripping his nape.

His gaze cleared, just a little, and when Satine pushed his head down to the table, he submitted, bracing his forehead against his arms, squaring his shoulders, and allowing it.

Satine kept her grip steady, a silent command and demand.

And Obi-Wan obeyed.

Qui-Gon was weeping silent tears across the aisle, and Anakin rocked in his seat, twisting around to stare brokenly at Obi-Wan before his eyes were drawn invariably back to the terrible images.

Those not sensitive to the Force might not be able to feel what Sidious had been doing to Obi-Wan's mind during those recordings, but none of them could miss the effect it had on a man who had faced many, many interrogations by brutal individuals and had never given up what they'd demanded from him.

It was the Judge who called for it to stop, even his cold, uncaring nature rattled.

They would break for the day, return tomorrow.

Satine felt fairly certain most of the people here would be tipping alcohol down their throats as soon as possible.

There was only one creature who could rival a Mandalorian in the ingenuity and cruelty of their tortures, and that would be a Sith of olden times.

Satine kept Obi-Wan pinned until everyone but his family had filtered out of the room.

Obi-Wan didn't once stir or manifest a sign of impatience.

Silent tears  _ did  _ roll down to the table, however.

Qui-Gon was holding Anakin, but the younger Jedi pulled himself together and hobbled over to the table.

Satine hesitated, weighing her options. 

She lifted her hand from Obi-Wan's nape.

He shuddered at the loss, lifted his head just a little, peering up at his former Padawan with murky golden eyes, bloodshot now with the force of the anguish he'd just relived.

Anakin reached out, as if he would touch him, then hesitated, then looked to Satine, his own blue eyes so lost and heartbroken.

Satine felt for him, even if Obi-Wan couldn't right now.

“You may touch him,” Satine allowed. She stood, a light brush against Obi-Wan's elbow telling him to do the same.

He obeyed, stood beside her.

He watched Anakin with dull, uninterested eyes.

Anakin gingerly hugged him, careful both not to startle Obi-Wan or to aggravate Anakin's own injuries.

Obi-Wan's gaze slid to Satine, and she gestured her hand in two gentle pats.

His gaze dropped again and he attempted an awkward partial-hug to Anakin.

The boy certainly needed it, even if Obi-Wan didn't feel it himself.

Anakin let go after a moment and fled as fast as his broken body would allow, not once looking back.

Qui-Gon moved to them, and he took a greater liberty. He looked to Satine first, and when she gave a nod, he stepped into Obi-Wan's space, cupping his face between two large hands.

“You,” Qui-Gon murmured, “are infinitely precious. You have endured more than anyone had  _ any  _ right to ask of you.” He pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan's forehead, and Satine could see her kept man's startled fidget. “I am both proud of you and brokenhearted.” His voice choked, he pressed another kiss to Obi-Wan's temple, and then he crushed Obi-Wan in a hug that clearly Qui-Gon had been trying to keep from giving, but had failed to resist in the end.

He was terribly broken by this too, needed to feel Obi-Wan alive in his arms, needed the bridge his words couldn't form.

And this time, Obi-Wan actually... nestled his head closer. It was a small gesture, one that lasted only a few heartbeats before he shifted in restlessness again and Qui-Gon retreated.

But Satine suspected that small token was the only comfort Qui-Gon had been given so far, and would probably be the only one for a long time to come.

“Come,” Satine murmured, and she guided her knight out of the courthouse and back to the sanctuary of her apartment.

The door closed behind them and Obi-Wan turned to her, a murky anguish in his eyes. “I can feel him, in my head.  _ Save me from this. _ ”

Satine's hand snapped out, caught him by the throat.

He froze, eyes lifting to hers. He made no effort to escape the fingers pressing into his neck.

“You belong only to me,” she murmured. “And I only share when I feel magnanimous. And I  _ don't  _ tonight. Only  _ I  _ am allowed inside you tonight.”

A shiver, both of hope and arousal shook him.

He sank to his knees, reaching for her waist.

“No.” Satine pointed to the bedroom. “Naked, on the bed, spread yourself for me. I will drive every memory from your head. Wait for me there.”

He scrambled to obey, and his swiftness sent a tremor of pleasure through Satine.

She divested herself of her clothing, leaving only her halter. She took a moment to consider her instruments, then chose a tapered insertible, the head of which was about the size of her finger, widening as it went down, and a small dildo.

He wasn't broken in, yet.

As Satine strode towards the bed, Obi-Wan watched her unshaved front, eyes shifting as her hips swayed. “Did I give you permission to look?” she asked.

He averted his gaze, again that shudder.

_ Wanting, wanting. Wanting what? _

Satine knelt on the bed and considered his ass, resting on his ankles as he buried his face in the pillow. She rubbed one hand across his pale ass cheek, a deep press that had him shivering again, and the scent of his arousal tickling Satine's nose.

Satine moved behind him, and cupping both cheeks, used her thumbs to reveal his entrance to her gaze. For a long moment she simply watched the ring of muscle quiver.

“I prefer to penetrate than to be penetrated,” Satine murmured, and then blew a light puff of air against his entrance.

A tiny gasp of air escaped his mouth, hidden somewhere against the bed. “I live to please.”

“Yes...” Satine let go to open up the lube bottle and pull on disposable gloves. “And you do. You please me very much.”  
Again that shiver. She liked that silent responsiveness, the power her words held over him.

Then again, she had  _ always  _ enjoyed her power over him, even if she refused to  _ use  _ it.

Now, of course...

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan had no idea what to expect, and there was something just a bit alarming in the fact that he couldn't see what was happening behind him.

That edge of discomfort pleased him. If it grew strong enough, it might be able to drive out Sidious' whispers, the memories of that unspeakable pain.

Something cold and wet prodded at him. His ass clenched without his permission, an automatic reaction.

Satine chuckled. “My tight little kept man. Relax. Let me in.”

His tagged ear gave a throb, and Obi-Wan focused on offering no resistance as her finger brushed over him again.

He didn't know what it would feel like, but he trusted her.

_ Do whatever you will. _

The finger gently slipped inside, a bizarre feeling, something that felt intrinsically backwards. He was used to years of things  _ leaving  _ that way. Not entering.

_ And yet is it not similar for a woman? _ he wondered.

And Satine said she preferred to penetrate. He'd seen the objects in her hand as she'd entered the bedroom.

_ She wants to put one of those inside me. Her specially-chosen surrogates. _

The gloved finger reached farther, then curved.

The gasp that choked into his lungs was  _ not  _ quiet, but shocked instead.

_ Dear Force—! _

Oh, it felt  _ odd—  _ he thought it felt  _ good _ , but he would need more to know for sure—

Satine's finger escaped, and Obi-Wan's brow furrowed.

She chuckled, massaging his ass. “So concerned. Let's see if you can take something for me.”

He didn't even realize the moment when the past vanished, completely swallowed up in the present and immediate future.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way Ewan McGregor screams in Trainspotting when portraying a young man in withdrawal from heroin? Something other. He does a lot of screaming in other movies. But I've not heard any like that. Not even the heartbreak scene in Moulin Rouge.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan comes face-to-face with what he did and the people he hurt. Expect it to be very uncomfortable, and if it's too much, you can skip ahead to the next chapter.

 

This first time— and probably the next several as well— Satine had no intention of attempting to use her fingers to stretch him.

The jump from one finger to two was often too much for an entrance not used to stretching. The tapered dildo would be far more gentle in its insistence.

She did use her forefinger at the start, to gently, insistently press just past that first ring of muscle. She played for a while that way, smoothing the skin just outside her target, then dipping inside.

And then she dragged the length of the dildo up his thigh, sending a shocked shiver through his body.

“I'm going to open you up,” she purred. “Do you want me to fill you, my beautiful doe?”

“Yes,” he murmured. “Am I your doe, really?”

Satine arched an eyebrow and played the tip of the length against his opening. “Oh, look who knows what a Mandalorian ruler's sex slave is called. Isn't that curious?”

“Oh,” he echoed back, voice not quite steady.

She slipped the slicked-up tip just inside. “And for how long have you fantasized about  _ being  _ my doe?”  
“ _ Oh— _ ” he hedged, and Satine suspected he'd intended to throw back some retort, but she was easing into him, and he was beginning to feel the stretch. The words fell out of him.

“Mm.” Satine paused to give him a chance to adjust, rocking the thing up and down to tease the insides of his passage.

“Satine,” he panted out.

She chuckled. “Are you going to be a good boy for me? Flutter and clench and shudder as I take you deep?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“What am I?” Satine asked, pressing deeper, watching as he arched up to take more, to take her in—

“You are my keeper. My particular. My spark, my lady, my gallant—”

His fluency delighted her as well as surprised. “You know all of the terms, now don't you? My kept boy, my slut. My doe.”

“Yours,” he agreed.

“You are so pretty like this. I wish you could see,” Satine crooned, stroking his hips, his ass, his thighs. “Impaled for me, shuddering and open. Such a good,  _ good  _ boy for me.”

Satine watched in amusement as his posture shifted, just a bit, from submissive and a bit apprehensive to  _ proud  _ he'd pleased.

He was forgetting his fear.

She worked him a bit more open, a bit deeper onto her stretching tool, and then she slowly slid it free. He gasped at the sensation, his entrance throbbed, he started to glance back, then remembered her command and buried his face in the pillow instead.

She chuckled again, rubbing deep one of his ass cheeks in reward. “You remembered.”

He shuddered, his cock twitching.

“I rather like your funny little cock,” she mused, reaching out to toy with it using the end of the dildo still slick from lube. He sucked in a breath and tilted his hips to press more length against hers. “The way it curves a bit to the side. Even though I do not want you for your dick, I do like its charm.”

“Thank you, Duchess,” Obi-Wan puffed as she teased it a bit more, making his ass wriggle a bit with frustration as he couldn't get the friction he sought.  
“Here. Hold this for me, will you darling?” Satine asked, leaning over him, her bare front pressing up against his ass in the process. He inhaled sharply again, pushing back against her mound and lifting his head. “As long as you hold it in your mouth, you may watch me.” She slipped the tip between his waiting— now eager— lips. “Mind your teeth; I do not want the silicone harmed. Treat it as you would me.”

Obi-Wan nodded, eyes wide, and he turned his head to peer back as best as he could past his own flank to where she slicked up the member she planned to actually frip him with.

“It's a bit smaller than you,” she mused, her hands caressing it in a lascivious way, making his brow crease and his hips cant forward again, a wordless request that she continued to ignore. “I think you can take it for me. Tell me, my doe: will you take it for me?”

He nodded, the movement exaggerated, and he had to duck his head to press the end of the dildo against the mattress again so it wouldn't slide out of his mouth.

“So eager,” Satine murmured. “So good for me.” She nudged the whole inside, sliding it up to the flared hilt.

He closed his eyes, brow furrowing in concentration, and then he pulled forward and tried to slam back.

Satine stayed him with a hand on his hip. “Ah-ah-ah,” she warned. “Ass fripping is not all it's hyped as being. We don't know if you're one of the  _ very  _ few people who enjoy such a thing. Many enjoy anal penetration. Only a few like to be fripped there. Let's take it slow, to begin with.”

Obi-Wan froze, letting her set the pace.

“Good boy,” she praised again, pressing deep into him, then relaxing the press, only to insist the end flare of the dildo firm against his ass again.

A muffled noise escaped around the burden in Obi-Wan's mouth.

“Does it feel good, little doe?”  
He nodded his head desperately.

“Can you take it a little longer, just for me?”  
Another nod, and a garbled  _ please. _

Satine continued to claim him, deep and intense, and then backed it out a bit to toy with his prostate, which had his thighs trembling and his cock bobbing in longing to be allowed  _ something. _

She pressed the dildo home quicker this time, sending an  _ oof  _ out of him, and she pressed her mound against the nearly-flat base.

There was a little protrusion, there, and gripping his hips, Satine worked it against her clit, rolling her hips against him.

His eyes were fantastically wide now, as he kept trying to catch more glimpses of her pleasuring himself against his filled ass. A keen escaped him and Satine's face twisted with a feral smile.

“That's it,” she crooned, reaching around to grip his balls. He stilled, blinking rapidly.

“This is mine,” she explained. She didn't hold tight enough to hurt, but it was certainly tight enough to give any man pause, make them think very carefully about what actions might lead to pain, and which might result in a softening of the hold.

Satine brought herself close, then backed off.

“I want to come, my doe,” she informed him, sliding the dildo from his ass, and the other from his mouth. “I feel rather determined about it. You've been so good for me, I think I will allow you to please me with your tongue as a reward. What do you think of that, my Obi-Wan?”  
“Force,  _ yes, _ ” he rasped, gathering his feet under him to move as Satine went to stand on the floor.

She pointed to a scarf over her vanity. “Bring that scarf to me with the Force.”  
Shock, quick followed by arousal, swept his expression and he obeyed, the scarf floating into her waiting hand.

He moved to stand before her.

“Turn around,” Satine directed, and when he did, she tied the scarf around only one wrist.

He glanced over his shoulder in surprise as she began to turn him to face her once more.

“No fingers allowed,” Satine directed. “You keep your  _ own  _ hands there.”

He sank to his knees before her, and Satine placed one leg over his shoulder to give him different access.

He displayed no hesitance in his attempts, only enthusiasm and determination. He wasn't sure what to do, and she did not direct him, but he quickly started to figure out what she liked by simple trial and error.

Her clever little doe.

Finally she growled. While his attempts were enjoyable— not a small part of which was watching his face become covered with her slick and his hair completely messed up from where her fingers gripped it— she wanted to  _ come,  _ and he wasn't quite sure how to accomplish that yet.

She pulled away just a few inches, bade him stop, and used her fingers to push herself over that edge.

Obi-Wan watched, fascinated and his cock bobbing.

“Clean me up,” Satine directed, “and then you may finish yourself.”

He eagerly licked her thighs, between her folds, everywhere he could reach with his tongue. He accepted the lube she dribbled into his hand, and then, sitting back on his heels, he wrapped his own fingers around his shaft, a low noise escaping him as something  _ finally  _ provided friction.

“Look me in the eye, darling,” Satine crooned, and she delighted in the way his face lit up crimson.

He didn't try to draw it out, instead chasing his orgasm with desperation as his gaze couldn't stray from her face.

He came with a startled gasp, blue eyes wide and body shivering with delight and shock.

Satine smiled, and then drew him to his feet with her finger under his chin and kissed him deep, claiming every surface in his mouth as hers.

His hands came up to trace down her back and ass, near-reverent in their touch, and he clung tightly to her.

“We shower, and then we sleep,” Satine murmured in his ear, and loved the way his skin shivered at the proximity of her mouth. “I hope you're ready to be a little spoon.”

Air trembled in his throat again before the exclamation, “ _ Gods, yes, _ ” escaped him.

Satine grinned, bit his jaw to leave an unmistakable bruise, and led him away.

 

* * *

 

Lying in bed, Obi-Wan's back pulled tight up against Satine's front, Satine's arm slung possessively over his hip, very near his cock, he asked, “How do you wish me to respond to the tabloid reporters? They should appear from the woodwork soon enough.”

Satine grinned at the thought.

“Tell them whatever you want,” she replied, kissing his spine. “As much or as little as you desire. You can tell them how I bend you over and frip you—” oh, that lovely shudder of his— “or you can play coy. Your choice.”

He snuggled backwards, closer into her.

For a long moment there was silence.

Then: “I'm glad you like my cock, despite its sadly average size.”

“Mm. It is rather lovely in your hand. And it twists and suffers so adorably when your ass is stretched open and receiving me.”

He groaned in pleasure and rolled a bit more towards his stomach, drawing up his thigh as he did so in invitation.

Satine slipped her own between his legs and pressed it up against his well-stretched special place.

“Content?” she asked.

And he nodded that for this moment, her claim had driven the torment of his mind clean out.

 

* * * 

 

Obi-Wan's feet nearly balked as they reached the review room again.

A tremor passed through him and he clenched his teeth to hold in a whimper.

His Satine paused, looked back at him.

_ They're going to watch more of the recordings. _

Obi-Wan had no idea what might be on them, which parts of his torment Sidious had seen fit to keep, and what had been deemed most important for the court to go over.

And then after that...

Reviewing of what he'd done on the way out.

And then character witnesses.

In theory, he wouldn't be called upon to speak at all until at least tomorrow, but it didn't keep the horror out of the back of his throat.

Satine stepped in front of him, brushed off his attire, something he thought of fondly as his  _ sex uniform _ . This particular one carried her family crest, covering him with her claim.

“Follow me,” she directed, and that was all she offered before she stepped into the den of horrors.

Obi-Wan swallowed, but sensed her expectation of his obedience.

_ She did not put her life on hold to cater to me. _

_ She is not putting her life on hold at all. _

His feet moved.

This time she didn't even let him sit beside her at the table. Instead, he knelt between her feet, watching the proceedings only when he could bear it, and hunkering down over his knees when he could not. 

Those times, he felt her heels turning in just a bit, the pressure centering him.

_ I murdered innocents, and the Force is taking their terror and blood out of me now. _

It seemed like forever before the court decided it had seen enough of Obi-Wan's torture at Sidious' hands.

Anakin was nearby, nearly as undone as Obi-Wan himself. Qui-Gon was keeping himself together only because the two younger Jedi needed him, and Obi-Wan could sense other Jedi near the back, the Force whispering of togetherness, solidarity, loyalty.

They were here for  _ him. _

All he wanted to do was crawl under something and die.

Preferably painfully.

Satine's toe rubbed up and down against the side of his leg, so she must have recognized his despair.

_ It's fine. They can find me guilty. Just let me leave, and I won't care at all what they do with my name or corpse. I just want the nightmare to end. _

But then...

When had justice ever been about bringing happiness to the guilty?

Even mercy had a purpose beyond rewarding cruelty with fulfilled desire. Mercy was restorative, for both parties involved.

Whether the court chose justice or mercy or some blend of the two, Obi-Wan didn't want to stay to find out.

He grit his teeth and placed one hand over the shapely toe of Satine's right shoe.

_ I am a thing. I am  _ her  _ thing. What I want, what I don't want, is irrelevant. _

_ She wants me here, so here I will be. _

The thought eased the claustrophobia, draining the desperation out of him. It didn't take away the terrible marrow-deep ache, or the dread, or the hopelessness...

But as the court reviewed the maimed and slaughtered bodies Obi-Wan had left behind in his escape, he kept still.

He found he couldn't argue with anything the woman fighting for the innocents had to say against him. She gave names to the bloodied faces, showed pictures of their families. 

Showed that while a few knew what Sidious was and had been doing, others were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and hadn't even had the  _ chance  _ to know.

_ Just kill me. Let me die. _

_ What have I become? I don't want this. _

He clutched Satine's shoe tighter.

_ Oh, Force. _

Something slipped down over his shoulder into his field of vision.

A string of... beads.

Beads.

Obi-Wan accepted it, peering down at them in confusion.

One was warm as a furnace, clear and hard, and in the Force it felt like Anakin. A whisper of pain and  _ intensity  _ were wrapped around that bead. A confusion, certainly, but a hell of a lot of it.

The next one down was cobalt glass. A color that couldn't actually be painted on a wall, or dyed into fabric, because the way light passed  _ through  _ it was part of what gave it that special warmth and depth and clarity.

It had Qui-Gon's signature all through it. An enduring love, a quiet ocean of grief. But there, glinting through the waves, a hint of tentative hope.

The next was stone. Warm and dark and veined with glittering violet. Strength wrapped around that one as he touched it, something almost electric in its affirmation of solidarity. 

_ Windu,  _ he recognized.

Obi-Wan stopped inspecting the string.

It was too long.

He gripped it tight, the differently shaped ornaments digging into his palm.

To leave such definite imprints, each Jedi who contributed had chosen something to represent themselves, had meditated, quite possibly for hours, centering their signature into it, and trying to express something to him.

His fingers glossed over the entire length, a rush of  _ acceptance-hope-memory-openness-compassion-pain-brotherhood  _ meeting the inquisitive touch.

Not a single note of discord.

_ It's not right.  _ The had to have seen his eyes. Felt his  _ wrongness  _ in the Force. They could see, up on the screen, the torn bodies he'd left in his wake.

_ The single father, just trying to feed his kids deserves justice. _

_ The daughter so close to completing her degree in nonviolent conflict resolution deserved to make the world better. _

_ The undercover cop, investigating suspicions that slave running was happening. _

She'd been there to rescue him, though neither of them had known it.

Obi-Wan shuddered.

Why were his eyes dry? It bothered and shocked him he felt no urge for tears.

When they finished for the day, all Obi-Wan could think of was to  _ hide,  _ but there were too many people between him and the door.

And then that door opened, revealing a glimpse of people lined up outside, holding signs.

He sensed Qui-Gon approach, felt Anakin's bewildered fury.

_What now._

But he guessed it before Qui-Gon spoke... because really, what else could it be?

“It's the children of the father, the parents of the college student, and the cop's brother, nieces and nephews in tow.”

This.

This was what Obi-Wan had meant to escape, that bloody day overlooking a won field of battle.

“They're... afraid that since Obi-Wan was a Jedi and since Jedi presence is so heavy, that it will be a sham trial ending in acquittal. The signs say as much. Demanding... justice.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, dropping the beads on the floor. When he stood, he made sure to step on them, heard some of them crack in response.  _This is what I wanted to spare all of us from when I asked you to put me down._

He hadn't wanted to endure this. The results of his actions.

He just wanted to be  _done._

“Permission to exit to the balcony,” he murmured, voice tight, “and to step off.”

She wouldn't let him. She was going to make him drink the entire, bitter cup he'd chosen for himself, but—

Qui-Gon turned pale and cringed.

Satine hooked her fingers in the collar of Obi-Wan's uniform and yanked on it. It forced his feet to stabilize himself a step closer to her, and she sent a glittering, uncooperative look up into his eyes. “You skipping out on life is not going to give them closure. They deserve justice, Doe, the way they deserved to keep their loved ones. You have the power to just rob others of these rights at a whim; therefore  _you_ deserve seeing the pain it causes. To  _real_ people with  _real_ lives, whether you knew the names of those insignificants you swatted out of your way or not.”

Obi-Wan  _feared_ it.

What if... he saw them... and he felt nothing? The way he felt nothing when he saw Anakin's slow, agonizing implosion? The way he felt nothing as Qui-Gon's heart broke again and again?

_What if I am what I think I am?_

What looking in the mirror said he was?

“You can wait until the Judicials have dispersed them,” Qui-Gon offered, knowing enough to address the statement to Satine, not her property.

She opened the bag she'd made Obi-Wan carry for her, and fished out a collar and lead. “It is their right to see him. And while seeing him will not soothe their fears of Jedi interference, my doe is no longer a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan bent to allow her easier access to lock the collar in place, and he ignored the bound of fear and anguish from Anakin at the sight of it. The rest of the Jedi near the back simply kept their thoughts to themselves.

He doubted they despised him. There had been too much love in the beads for it to be washed away so simply— especially when they already knew what his current employment was.

Satine placed pressure on the lead, and Obi-Wan followed her, much as he didn't want to, past the people he used to fight alongside, and then out the doors.

Security had managed to keep the reporters at bay, but the family of the victims...

Obi-Wan's gaze swept the gathering before he had a chance to prevent himself.

They stood there, silent and leaking grief into the Force. The two little ones he'd orphaned were crying. Neither could be over six years of age.

Obi-Wan's eyes averted.

Something was happening. Something was reaching inside and ripping him  _open, and oh Force it hurt—_

And then they were past, and Obi-Wan's legs could barely hold him up, barely propel him forward.

Reporters swarmed around the enclosed speeder with its dark tinted windows, but Satine brushed them off and guided him into the back of it.

Her driver, Aramis, took off, leaving behind the questions.

Obi-Wan sat still, staring unseeing out the window as his mind spun.

Satine allowed him the silence, all the way back and into her apartment, all the way until he reached the bedroom and paused.

“Take off everything but your undershorts,” Satine directed. “Then lie on the bed face down and wait for me.”

He obeyed, the movements feeling mechanical.

The wait was not long before Satine joined him, and a fragrant oil dripped down the length of his spine. Satine feathered the drops against his skin with her fingertips, then a new scent added to the first, with a repetition of the strokes.

Four distinct smells in, Satine's hands switched gears, digging deep into his muscles. The weight of her, pushing down on him drove the air from his lungs, and her skill with her hands made his muscles feel  _good._

_And I don't deserve to._

He saw two small, sad faces, eyes huge. The fear there dwarfed by the question of  _why_ ?

Obi-Wan's throat closed, and he turned his face to press his nose flat against the mattress, not wanting Satine to witness his confusion.

He could imagine them, huddled together and crying in the night, knowing their Daddy wasn't coming home, would never—

A near-silent noise escaped him.

Satine's massaging didn't pause. It felt incredible, the polar opposite of what Sidious had done to him, but at the same time that felt so very  _wrong._

“Please stop,” Obi-Wan rasped.

Satine paused, hands resting on his rib cage. “Am I hurting you?”  
“No. That's— that's the problem.”

“Explain why.”

“I— took hearts that had nothing to do me, and I just tore them apart. There had to have been another way out.” He was babbling. He  _knew_ he was babbling. “I could have tried to find another way— using the Force to send them unconscious, or killing myself with the first sharp object I found.”

Satine didn't move. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted  _out._ Not death. Not then.” Obi-Wan's breathing heaved as a sob tried to form. “And the thought of being caught and stopped by someone giving the alarm too soon— the  _horror_ of it, Satine. But there had to be other ways to escape the gauntlet, without... killing them all. I took the horror I couldn't face any longer, and stuffed it down other throats, since they weren't even there to resist me, if they could. Those families...” Tears burned his eyes.

He couldn't quite breathe, so he curled onto his side, his knees drawing up as sobs shook his body.

He felt it.

Oh,  _Force,_ he  _felt it._

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Her precious Sith spent himself with weeping, grieving what he had done.

Satine sat with him in silence, hand steady on his side, waiting out the storm.

He'd described his prior state to her, that he could  _see_ where his morals used to be, and could see the results of his actions, but couldn't feel any of it.

He could watch Anakin weep his heart out, confused and broken by Palpatine's betrayal, by his own wounding, by what had happened to his father figure, and feel nothing at all about it.

If he had been allowed to avoid it all, he might have been able to keep up his headlong careening indefinitely.

But Satine held his leash now, and she had no interest in watching those uncaring, golden eyes.

As he wept, hurting for those who hurt tonight, Satine saw his irises shift back from yellow to blue.

It wasn't as if it passed through shades of green to get there. Instead, it was a sudden thing, as if the gold had been an invading fluid that flooded in, and was now leaking out, and where it receded, Obi-Wan's true eyes could be found.

_Because even though you turned inward, you are still capable of empathy. Of feeling another's pain and experiencing compassion._

Something the dark side couldn't do.

It took quite a bit of time for Obi-Wan's tears to run out, and when they did, he looked just a bit afraid.

_No, precious heart. I will not be speaking._

His brutal contact with reality had said enough.

She lay down beside him, and when he curled into her, seeking comfort, she held him and soothed him to sleep with gentle caresses of her fingertips.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan awoke exhausted... and unable to breathe through his nose. _I should know better than to cry at night. It always makes me miserable._

Trying not to wake Satine, he rolled out of bed and landed on soft feet, padding into the refresher. He closed the door before he signaled on the light.

Sick yellow greeted him in the mirror.

_I must find a way to reach the hearing room while avoiding the... crowds._

His mind couldn't sway any closer to the  _real_ words, the words he'd seen the night before.

Such embracing of the truth about himself had been... exceedingly uncomfortable, and he had no desire to repeat the experience.

Now.

It would be the character witnesses today, and his personal testimony.

Obi-Wan slunk back out of the bathroom to peer through the wardrobe Satine had set up for him.

What was the sluttiest thing she had purchased for him, and could he make it  _more_ revealing...?

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was disconnected again.  _Farther,_ this time. He sat in his chair beside Satine's, lounged back and with a half-amused, half-bored expression while individual after individual, from inside the Order and out, stood to speak for him.

It wasn't easy for those called to the witness stand.

Hell, it wasn't easy for  _Satine._ But that, her doe did not currently have the right to know.

Security had been better prepared this morning, so a repeat of yesterday had been avoided.

Satine wasn't sure that was healthy for Obi-Wan, since he seemed to have locked the whole business away to not look at it unless his nose was forced down and rubbed in it.

Maybe not even then.

It was definitely a coping mechanism he'd picked up while in Sidious' care. Who knew what terrible things Sidious had forced him to witness, to feel, and revisit.

Obi-Wan was not seeking redemption, but departure. And upon that being denied him, diversion.

Honestly, Satine didn't know what the  _frip_ to do.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon gave his statements, managed to hold it together and be ready to pick up the pieces of Anakin after the younger man spoke as well.

Anakin managed to be articulate, in spite of freezing a couple times, eyes wide and locked on Obi-Wan's altered appearance. He managed to pull himself out of it each time, managed to get said what he needed to say.

And then he returned to Qui-Gon and seemed to curl into himself.

Windu was speaking, looking intimidating and vehement, when Anakin whispered, “ _Why_ ? Why would he...” He glanced at Obi-Wan again. “ _Choose..._ ”

_Why would he choose a life of slavery, after seeing the scars it left on you?_

Qui-Gon placed a hand on Anakin's shoulder and rubbed the back of it, just a little.

How could he explain that Obi-Wan had fantasized about placing all his rights, including the one to life, into Satine Kryze's hands ever since he discovered the ancient Mandalorian custom of  _kept_ people?

_He has nothing left to keep him from doing whatever he might fancy doing._

Whether that might mean murder, theft, self-harm, or selling himself to the woman he had always craved.

 

* * *

 

Anakin held quiet and listened as the court's appointed mind authority gave her expert opinion on the type of psychological damage the long-term torture might have inflicted, and whether Obi-Wan Kenobi had been capable of making the distinction between torturer and victim at the time, given how long he'd been sleepless at that point, and driven mad by terror.

The prosecutor was having none of it.

From the look of incredulity on Obi-Wan's face, neither was he.

 

* * *

 

He could have put a quick end to all of this, plead guilty, recommended execution, recounted in detail the improvised deaths in gruesome detail. Driven the deciding authorities to such disgust that they were willing to put a needle in his arm or a bolt in his brain.

Satine had flat-out forbidden it.

Had forbidden him from speaking at all, except for answering questions put to him by the lawyers while he was on the stand. He wasn't allowed to embellish, snark,  _anything_ other than direct answers with a respectful affect and tone.

And no trying to convince either side of  _anything._

He cooperated— she'd ordered it, after all— and only once he'd returned to her keeping did his displeasure with having followed her directions show.

What felt like an eternity passed, and then the proceedings paused to determine a verdict.

Satine sat at their table, breathing steady, eyes glittering, form poised with a ferocity Obi-Wan had rather missed after a couple decades of nonviolence from her.

Not that she would physically attack anyone present should the sentence be something other than what she wanted, but. The look in her eye almost  _appeared_ that way.

He hungered for it.

Obi-Wan himself found his foot tapping, restless.

If they locked him in prison, away from his keeper, he would remedy the living situation fairly swiftly.

Satine had forbidden him from killing himself. She hadn't mentioned anything about just passively letting Jedi-hating inmates shiv him in a prison common room.

Probably wouldn't take much to provoke. Might not even require any provocation at all. Just waiting, and then not fighting back.

Or, if Satine  _did_ try to preemptively attempt something...

Not fighting back  _much._

“All rise.”

Obi-Wan stood obediently when Satine tapped his elbow, and waited beside her, feeling a jittery energy jiggling through his veins. Most unpleasant.

 

* * *

 

Anakin couldn't breathe as he waited the final seconds. Qui-Gon stood beside him, a solid presence, but all Anakin could see was a firing squad aiming for Obi-Wan's  _why-the-frip-should-I-care_ bored expression.

He couldn't lose him. Not again. Not after just getting him back.

And the thought of him in an orange jumpsuit for the next forty years, or the rest of his life,  _hurt—_

It took a moment for the words to sink in.

_He acted out of terror for his life and in a temporary zone of agony-induced desperation._

And while there was no doubt he  _did_ what he did...

The Court did not hold him responsible. It held Sheev Palpatine as culpable for it all, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was permitted to go about his business and leave the planet, with one caveat.

Four hundred hours of service to charities of the families' choosing.

Anakin's legs gave out, sinking him back into his chair, clutching at the cane and trembling.

_Oh Force, oh Force, they're not going to kill him, or lock him up. Oh, Force._

Qui-Gon sagged in relief, tipping forward to brace his hands on the seat back before him. For a moment his head bowed, and Anakin wondered if he was whispering thanks before he turned to face a quietly triumphant room.

The only person who seemed exempt from the subdued pleasure was Obi-Wan Kenobi himself.

He looked...  _crestfallen._

 

* * *

 

This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Then again... when had  _anything_ ever?

Obi-Wan felt the relief in the room like a grater, cutting away his skin and rasping bone. He just wanted it to  _stop._

He sent a resentful look Qui-Gon's way, but the older man didn't even notice his former padawan's venom.

_You._

Obi-Wan had waited in that overlook, wanting to see him once last time before he fell among the slain.

_I should have acted when I had the chance, let you find my body instead of me._

Because of course Qui-Gon Jinn had chosen hell for Obi-Wan Kenobi. Again.

The Court strongly advised Kenobi's new authority figure to ensure he saw mental professionals until he was given a clean bill of health.

_This is rehabilitation. This is reintegration. This is... everything I told Qui-Gon I_ did not  _want._

But when had Qui-Gon ever cared about what Obi-Wan  _wanted_ ?

A sneer curled Obi-Wan's lip.

A hand seized his jaw and jerked his head around.

Obi-Wan's eyes startled wide and focused on Satine's face.

“You,” she pronounced. “We're going home. Not to the after party that's forming.”

Thank. The. Force.

Obi-Wan stood to follow her, felt his skin crawl with how many people were pleased with the outcome. They still believed in him, and he  _hated_ it. Wasn't quite to the point of hating  _them,_ but it was a near thing. The disgust and revulsion were quite enough, thank you.

“Foot on the table,” Satine directed.

Obi-Wan obeyed, pleased to note the waist drape didn't quite cover his genitals when he had one foot on the floor and the other propped on the table.

The fact gave him a little of his agency back. It averted gazes, and the bailiff who came over to unlock the band from around his ankle was quite blush-burned and uncomfortable.

Satine ushered him back home, not stopping for congratulations or relief. The political... friends-(?) that he'd managed to collect along his path had been far more insistent than the Jedi who used to be his brethren.

The Jedi had hung back. They'd fought for him, and that was enough for them.

He knew where to find them should he desire more than that silent solidarity.

But Bail and Padmé and...  _people..._

And  _other_ civilians, so  _many_ , including Dex had turned out for this final day, and since it had been the sentencing they had been allowed to wait nearby....

He was still locked in his disgusted thoughts when the door slid behind them and locked.

Next thing he knew, his feet had been swept out from under him and he hit the thick carpet of Satine's floor with a gust of air escaping him.

Satine stood over him, a predatory conqueress, placing her foot on his abdomen, very near his cock.

It throbbed and filled in response.

“Doe, your thoughts are anywhere but on me.”

“My apologies.”

“It makes me think you need a bit of a lesson,” Satine growled.

Obi-Wan felt all of the frustration flee to give way to desperate arousal. “And how might I please my Duchess?”

“Strip, choose a toy, and claim yourself with it on the floor at my feet. Be wise, my kept pet, and choose something that you can use for a good long while, instead of trying to impress me. I promise you this:” Her heel slid down farther, sliding past cock and balls and choking the air clean out of Obi-Wan's lungs with the intense discomfort-fear- _Forcemoreplease—_ “I will  _not_ be impressed if you have to stop early because of a mistake in judgment.”

“I understand,” Obi-Wan puffed out, and as her shoe left him, he scrambled to obey.

 

* * *

 

Satine lounged in her favorite soft chair, slouched down a bit in it, feeling both furious and in need.

She needed to  _kill_ something is what she needed. The hunger pawing at her ankles and whimpering in her soul.

She was  _angry_ with Obi-Wan for what he  _was._ For  _where_ he was. For this...  _nothingness_ he seemed determined to hold on to. She felt resentment towards Sheev Palpatine for making  _her Jedi_ scream when no one had a right to inflict so much pain on him but her.

But what she resented most of all was that Palpatine was already dead, and safe from anything  _she_ could do to him.

Obi-Wan crawled back into the room on his hands and knees, lube bottle balanced in the slight sway of his back, and the toy held carefully between lip-covered teeth.

Satine arched an eyebrow.  _Above and beyond, is it?_

She'd figured she'd get barely anything out of him tonight, so disconnected as he'd been, and conniving to  _escape._ Permanently.

She knew that look, the fripping idiot.

Thought he was so Forcedamn sneaky.

He came to a stop before her and sat, spreading his legs so she could see all of him, and then proceeding to try to discover how best to access his own entrance. The tiny frown of concentration that appeared after a few moments, and then the focus that drove everything else away as he pressed the tip of the gently tapered toy into himself—

Satine felt some of her own anger draining away.

He looked rather lovely, spread and twisted around, easing something of hers into his most vulnerable place. She watched his sack draw up, his erection wilt, the sensations from his ass overwhelming everything else.

His precious little curved cock.

Satine smiled down at it, where it leaked in lonely eagerness.

It would be waiting long, tonight.

Satine had something else she needed to feed.

 

* * *

 

For the next few days, Obi-Wan's entire purpose was simply sex.

Satine gave him specific directions for when she was out for meetings, and when she was home, he was continuously naked and at her disposal. Lounging at her feet as she worked on her datapad, fripping himself slowly with a toy while she watched, those magnificent eyes hooded and the Force whispering her arousal all through Obi-Wan's senses.

She left him crashing into bed exhausted at night, sleeping sound and deep, without a chance for dreaming or stewing.

She made him feel like an object.

She made him feel alive.

She made him feel something  _other_ than... the whole mess of  _bad_ things that just wanted to pounce on him again, whether it be the anguish or the snide aggression or the numb disinterest in another being's pain.

Her approval was something attainable. Her pleasure was something measurable. And when he chose to abase himself before her, the liquid fire that zipped through her veins left her nearly glowing in the Force to his perception.

A goddess, and he her willing slave.

It had only been responsibility that had kept him away before.

Now he just didn't give a kark.

Kneeling at her feet had always been the place of his heart.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan eased into his role better than Satine had feared.

After his all-but acquittal, she'd feared he might just  _die_ on her.

That crisis seemed past, however.

He'd even expressed an interest in tabloids again.

Satine was only too happy to let him wreak what havoc he might like.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan sat comfortably, if a bit provocatively, across from the reporter.

_ “So, Doe Kenobi, to have captured such a magnificent woman's desire, you must be rather well endowed.” _   
An amused smile touched Obi-Wan's lips.  _ “Oh, she has little use for my cock.” _

The sound of the last word beeped out, but Qui-Gon saw the lip movements to form the sounds.

_ “Which is fortunate, for I am rather average in size.” _

The reporter seemed a bit shocked.  _ “I doubt that,” _ she chuckled, trying to figure out how to react to a man refusing to play coy.  _ “Now, as the former Negotiator—” _

_ “You wish to ask in a roundabout way about my tongue?” _ Obi-Wan asked, with again that toying smile. Qui-Gon knew it, even if there was unfamiliar gold in the eyes now.

_ Oh, you poor thing,  _ he inwardly groaned for the reporter.  _ And you, my Padawan, what are you playing at? What do you hope to gain? _

Obi-Wan tilted his head just a bit to allow the cam to catch a better view of his ear tag. The gesture even looked natural and unintended.  _ “Let me spare you the difficulty of asking about each of my parts: she prefers to stretch me. To bend me over a table and fill my _ [beep]  _ with something in her hand and  _ _ f _ [beep!]  _ me until I hobble and cannot sit for days.” _

A flush was crawling up the reporter's skin, and she was trying to hide how interested she was in his words.

Obi-Wan merely watched the results with unrepentant amusement.

Anakin stepped through the door and Qui-Gon immediately killed the holo, shivering at the thought of Anakin seeing  _ any  _ of the ongoing interview.

But Anakin immediately turned it back on. “There's something Padmé was trying to keep me from seeing.”

_ “You are surprisingly open about this.” _

_ “You are surprised I find no shame in submitting to a woman I respect above all others? In the remarkable and cherished fact that the woman I worship even trusts  _ me _ with her respect?” _

_ “Well, when you put it like that, would that we all were this lucky. Drixel: back to you.” _

Anakin paled as Obi-Wan flashed the camera one diabolical smile calculated to make hearts stutter. He muted it as the holo moved on to its next point of interest. “What is he doing?” he whispered.

Qui-Gon weighed his answer, and finally just shook his head. “I don't know, Anakin.”

Anakin sank onto the couch beside him, rubbing a shaking hand down his face, bewildered pain in his eyes.

“What happened to him, when Sidious—?” Anakin raised grief- and guilt-stricken eyes to Qui-Gon's face. 

“He suffered.” Qui-Gon reached out to him, and Anakin edged closer, leaning into him so Qui-Gon could hold him close. “He endured something so deeply, unspeakably traumatic... and seeing his life, his death, and the world from that vantage point... changed his priorities.”

Anakin shook his head. “But so  _ much _ ?”

“Anakin... he endured so much that he lost his ability to put others' needs as equally important as his own. The pain was so great that he became willing to kill innocents to escape. I can't even imagine that kind of duress.” Qui-Gon's voice failed, and a sob tore up from his lungs, painful in its harshness.

Anakin's arm shifted up to hold the grieving master tight in return.

_ I'm just grateful he's alive. Because there was a time when I thought we had reached the end of Obi-Wan Kenobi. _

_ As long as he's alive... he has a chance to find a way to happiness. _

And if that happiness required being Satine Kryze's sex slave?

It would get no argument from Qui-Gon Jinn.

 

 


End file.
